


Five Times Sirius Silently Pined for Remus and the One Time he did Something About it

by gothzabini (girl412)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 5+1 Things, Canon Compliant, Drinking Games, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Kinda?, M/M, MWPP, Marauder Shenanigans, Marauders' Era, Pining, Teenagers, but we ignore canon in this house thank you, i think? i dont know rlly, very mild angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-27 18:23:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16224740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girl412/pseuds/gothzabini
Summary: What it says on the tin. Remus Lupin is not your average man, and Sirius Black is painfully aware of that. Or: here is a series of instances that would be ridiculous if it were anyone but the Marauders. Featuring watermelon seeds, alcohol, leather pants, bad dancing and too many cigarettes.





	Five Times Sirius Silently Pined for Remus and the One Time he did Something About it

**Author's Note:**

> Remus is very silly & very badass, let's be real. also there's a lot of casual drinking & drunkenness in this, as well as a very problematic number of cigarettes. basically, typical Sirius Black nonsense. don't read if that sort of thing triggers you <33

i.

James and Sirius are eating watermelons, and it’s messy. Juice dribbles down their chins, staining their white Hogwarts linen red. At least it matches his tie, Sirius figures, unbothered. He is unbothered because at the moment, the only botherance is the challenge present, which is to see who can spit their watermelon seeds further.

James makes a soft popping noise with his mouth before he spits, and Sirius watches as the seed arcs in the air, before landing barely a foot away from where they’re standing. “Let me show you how it’s done,” he says.

According to James and Sirius, Sirius’s technique for launching oral projectiles doesn’t leave much to be desired, but Remus seems unimpressed, even after the watermelon seed has landed at least three feet ahead of James’s. 

“Padfoot,” he says, his tone unreadable. “You are a dog. Surely you can do better than that?” 

Sirius frowns. “Don’t see you winning this round, Moony.” 

“Well, pay attention then,” Remus says, in what Sirius thinks of as his prefect voice. He takes the watermelon slice from Sirius’s hands and takes a dainty little bite, as if reminding them that he is more human than wolf.

Any such pretence at being a normal human goes out of the window when Remus actually spits the seed. It flies through the air almost at supersonic speed and lands almost ten feet away from where they’re standing. 

James and Sirius stare, open mouthed. 

By this time, all the Marauders know how to detect magic intuitively, and both James and Sirius know that they would know if any foul play had occurred (it hasn’t.) Which leads to the surprising revelation that Remus can spit at least five times as far as them. Sirius isn’t sure why this is important, but he stores it in his memory anyway, in case they need it for a prank later. 

“Moony,” James says, still sounding stunned. There’s a tone of wonder in his voice that is never present, except when he’s talking to Evans. Sirius is alarmed. 

“Yes?” 

“ _Moony._ How did you do that?” 

Remus smiles, a small secret smile that says, _There are things I’m not telling you_.  “Oh, you know,” he says, nonchalantly. “Superpowers.” 

“We don’t know,” Sirius prompts, suspecting that this is going to end as a werewolf joke. 

He’s only half correct.

“It’s one of those bisexual werewolf things, Sirius,” Remus says in a tone that would be patronizing in any other context. “I know you can’t relate, but now you know, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Sirius says, mouth dry.

Later, when Remus is gone, James gives Sirius a sceptical look. “Did Moony just come out to us over spitting watermelon seeds?” 

Sirius feels a little faint. After all, he is supposedly the dramatic one, but he doesn’t think he can ever do better than this.  “Yeah,” he says. And then, more softly, but with more feeling than ever, “I’m _fucked._ ” 

ii. 

“I am not wearing Sirius’s leather pants with the floral shirt,” Remus insists. He is, unfortunately, too drunk to be convincing enough to win the argument, and ends up wearing the offending combination all the same.

Sirius thinks he can hear his heartbeat in his skull, his pulse booming like a time bomb on the verge of exploding. Only Remus could pull off such a terrible look. Sirius knows that on anyone else it would look like a grandfather having a midlife crisis and pretending to be 21, but on Remus it looks like he’s redefining fashion and defying societal expectations. It’s a look that transcends time itself. 

“Padfoot, you okay?” James says, with fake concern. He looks like his birthday’s come early. Sirius can tell he’s trying not to laugh.

“Moony,” Sirius says sombrely instead, as if this is the answer to the question. And maybe in a way, it is.

“Hm?” Remus says. He’s staring at Sirius’s collarbone, and that’s how Sirius knows he’s really drunk. Maybe, if they’re lucky, he won’t remember this tomorrow.  

It’s that hope that lets Sirius blurt, “You look really punk rock.” 

There’s silence for a minute, before James and Peter begin to guffaw. 

“No, he doesn’t, Pads, he really doesn’t,” James chokes out, between peals of laughter.

“He _does_ ,” Sirius says insolently. 

James and Peter’s laughter only intensifies, but Sirius notices that Remus is regarding him with a look that seems almost inquisitive. 

“Thank you, Sirius,” he says, and Sirius notices the way his lips quirk upwards, and can’t help but smile back. 

iii.

“Got a cigarette for me?” Remus asks easily, walking up to Sirius, who’s leaning against the red brick wall with his leather jacket and his _I’ll walk all over you_ boots, smoking like a dragon. Sirius has always thought he looks impressive like this, arched against the wall, spewing spoke in casual haloes, but he knows Remus won’t be impressed. Remus has seen him pick up this bad habit after all; he witnessed all the coughing and all those awful times Sirius burnt his fingers on his cigarettes (there’s a Marauding rule that goes: don’t talk about it.) 

“You don’t smoke,” Sirius says, surprised, but handing a fag over anyway.  

Remus smiles. “Figured that my life’s threatened anyway, you know? Since I rip myself open every month?” 

“Not anymore,” Sirius points out, but he lights Remus’s cigarette with his wand anyway. 

“Yes, that’s thanks to my dependency on you all,” Remus says. “I’d rather die of cigarettes than of full moons, thank you very much.” 

Sirius watches Remus take a drag, and something about it feels oddly erotic. He tries to remind himself that it’s just Remus and it’s just a fag, but something about the look in his eyes and the shape of his fingers around the cigarette and of his posture, somewhat careless but at the same time, vigilant – all those tiny mismatched mannerisms that fit together to make the beautiful oddball that is Remus Lupin – something about it makes him feel week-kneed. 

“You’re the same way, I think,” Remus says.

“I’m sorry, what?” 

“Why you smoke,” Remus says. He looks at Sirius, and Sirius suddenly feels as though he’s being seen completely, as if all the secrets inside his head are on display. “You’d rather die at the hands of nicotine than your legacy. You’d rather lose your lungs to cigarettes than lose your mind to Walburga.” 

Sirius swallows and nods, not trusting himself to speak actual words. He suddenly feels something that borders on self-actualization, as well as the revelation that it’s possible that Remus Lupin understands him better than any living being ever has in his entire lifetime, James Potter included.

“Give me another, Padfoot,” Remus says, and Sirius turns, noticing that Remus’s current cigarette still has a little longer before it burns out.

“You’ve already got one,” Sirius points out.

“Want to see how many I can smoke at once,” Remus says, and the finality in his tone makes Sirius feel as if he’s experiencing an out-of-body experience. 

“This is a bad idea,” Sirius says, handing his entire pack over. Remus smiles, his eyes looking strangely dark.

“I solemnly swear I am up to no good,” he says, lighting two more cigarettes before he hands the pack back to Sirius. 

Sirius raises an eyebrow. “You were always the worst out of the four of us, Moony.” 

Remus smiles, exhales more smoke than a factory. “I know,” he says.

iv.

They’re playing Never Have I Ever, and they’re already drunk, which is probably why Peter seems to think it’s a good idea to say, “I have never snogged a werewolf.” With that grand declaration, he takes his shot glass, and drinks.

James groans. He already looks in a bad way. James has a higher alcohol tolerance than the average person, but not more than Sirius and Remus. At any rate, his current state is not due to his innate alcohol tolerance as much as it is to do with the vast number of shenanigans he’s been involved in. Barely a round had gone by that hasn’t resulted in James taking a shot. 

“I can’t drink anymore,” he says, sounding like he’s on his deathbed. 

“You don’t have to,” Remus says, raising an eyebrow, and bending forward to peck James on the lips chastely. 

“Moony, I said snog, not kiss,” Peter reminds him, while Sirius watches the spectacle, feeling oddly mortified. 

  “You want me to use my werewolf tongue?” Remus asks, his inhibitions lower than ever (and later on, Sirius will joke about how his standards were lower than ever, too, but not just then.) 

Peter splutters, James smirks, and Remus leans forward and actually _snogs_ James. Sirius spills his entire glass on his shirt, and reaches for the bottle of Firewhiskey, drinking from the bottle until Remus physically wrenches it out of his hands.

“Be nice to your liver, Padfoot,” he says, and Sirius isn’t sober enough to tell if there’s really concern in his eyes, or it’s just wishful thinking. 

“I’m giving my liver something to live for,” Sirius says. Remus sighs, but gives Sirius a fond smile. 

“Death isn’t something to live for, Sirius,” he says, quietly. 

“What is, if not that?” Sirius shoots back, before leaning against Remus, who puts an arm around his shoulder without even needing to think about it. 

“Maybe we should turn off for the night,” Remus suggests. “Padfoot is getting rather _grim_.” 

Sirius laughs softly, even though it isn’t really that funny. Except, he’s drunk and it’s Remus, of course it’s funny.

v.

Sirius spins Remus around in his arms with surprising grace, given that they’re listening to rock and roll. According to Sirius, there is no point in knowing high society dances that originated in the Ancient and Noble House of Black if all you’re going to do is dance with family while bitching about people with supposedly inferior blood, which is hypocritical in itself, given the amount of inbreeding that everyone knows had occurred, was occurring and would continue to occur within the aforementioned Ancient Noble House. Sirius suppresses a shudder. Now isn’t the time to reflect on that. He thinks instead of what his parents would say if they could see him now, dancing a courtship waltz with a male werewolf he’s in love with. 

Remus sighs, letting Sirius lead him limply, like a puppet. 

“I told you Sirius, I don’t like dancing.” 

“You heathen,” Sirius says, laughing when Remus throws a mild tickling jinx his way. “What is the point having two legs if all you ever do is eat chocolate, drink tea and read books?” 

“That’s not all I do,” Remus reminds Sirius, moving forward with too much enthusiasm and tripping over Sirius’s feet, bringing them both crashing to the ground.

“Damn right it isn’t,” Sirius says, trying not to get too noticeably flustered by the fact that he’s lying on his back on the floor with Remus’s knees poking his stomach and Remus’s collarbones next to his mouth. Sirius wants to kiss them, or leave a hickey, or maybe embrace his inner Padfoot and just lick them. Restraint wins, however, and Sirius doesn’t do any of those things. 

“Legs are for dancing,” Sirius whines. “And I cannot believe you just tripped me. I’ve let down my family in a big way, Moony. We are not permitted to _fall_ while waltzing. The shame is inexpressible!” 

“Sirius,” Remus says, and it sounds like he’s trying not to laugh. “You have done far worse things to let down your family.” 

Sirius smiles. “I know! Aren’t you proud of me?”

One of Remus’s hands cards though Sirius’s hair. “Of course I am,” he says, and Sirius beams. 

vi.

In a weird way that could maybe be credited to destiny or something equally dubious, it’s something Remus says that tips everything over. Metaphorically speaking, of course. Sirius has fallen in love and fallen while dancing, and he doesn’t intend to fall again.

Sirius and Remus are sitting by one of the sofas in the common room revising for exams –well, Remus is sitting  and revising on the sofa, and Sirius is sitting on the floor by it, which he protests is more comfortable. He supposes there are disadvantages to being Padfoot, and a characteristically non-human affinity for carpets seems to be one of them. Sirius isn’t studying anything academic, but he’s certainly studying Remus’s profile as the other boy bends over his parchment and scrawls something in that physician’s handwriting that he has. 

They both hear the sound of James Potter attempting to woo Lily Evans –  key word here being attempting. At this point, it should be white noise, but the dog in Sirius as well as the wolf in Remus both have very good hearing and are very focused on the fate of members of the pack, so unfortunately they process this conquest.

“I can’t think of anyone who has it as bad as James,” Remus confesses. “He’s stuck in Pining City, poor lad.” 

The words are out of his mouth before he can think them through. “I can,” Sirius says. 

“You can think of someone more far gone than James?” 

Sirius nods, looking away. This is it; he has officially dug his grave. There is no way to say _Remus darling, you are one of my best friends and I am ardently and sincerely in love with you. Have been since forever. In fact, I can’t even study right now, because your existence distracts me. You have really beautiful hands, you know that?_

__

Remus raises one eyebrow in an arc as smooth as the crescent moon. Sirius suddenly wonders if he’s said all that aloud, realises he has, and decides that sleep deprivation is now officially his worst enemy, ranked above Snivellus himself. 

“Sirius, are you taking the piss?” 

Sirius groans. “I’m apparently so far gone that my attempts at seduction sound like a prank. This is the worst thing that has ever happened to me.” 

Remus’s expression suddenly stiffens. “You’re serious.” 

Sirius laughs, and for a moment Remus looks like he’s going to join in, but that pun has passed its expiry date, and Sirius knows it.

“Padfoot, don’t fuck with me,” Remus says, and he sounds more tired than anything else.

Sirius stares at him for a moment, unsure what to do, and then decides fuck it, he’s Sirius Black, he’s going to do things the Padfoot way. So with a characteristic lack of planning, he gets up, walks upto Remus and sits next to him on the sofa.

“I would _never_ ,” he says, and something about the conviction in his voice must get to Remus, because some of the life comes back into his eyes.

“Yeah?” he asks Sirius.

Sirius doesn’t respond with words, opting instead to press his mouth against Remus, and snog the living daylights out of him. 

After one frightening moment of getting no response, Remus kisses back, giving as good as he gets.

“Fucking finally!” James yells, and they break apart, suddenly remembering where they are. Everyone is looking at them, but nobody seems surprised. 

“Jamie,” Sirius says. “You kissed my boy that night – I haven’t forgotten, and I sure as hell haven’t forgiven.” 

James just shrugs and walks away, into their dorm.

“Padfoot,” Remus says. “That wasn’t anything.” 

“I know,” Sirius says, opting to curl up against Remus rather than continue a snogging session, given that everyone is watching them.

“No, I don’t think you do,” Remus says, and Sirius sleepily tries to focus on him.

“Padfoot,” Remus says. “I’m in love with you too.” 

Sirius nearly falls off the sofa.

vii. (BONUS) 

“Let’s break into Grimmauld and embroider our names on the tapestry,” Sirius suggests. “With the plus sign and everything, like a properly married couple.” 

Remus sighs, and does his best to look disapproving. “Sirius, no.” 

Sirius can see that he’s trying not to smile. 

“Yeah, who needs that dump,” he says. “We’ll set the house on fire instead.” 

“ _Sirius._ ” 

“With the number of cigarettes we smoke, we can even pass it off as accidental.” 

“You’re incorrigible.” 

“It’s what you love about me.” 

Remus laughs then. “It’s really not, but sure, keep telling yourself that.” 

Sirius looks at him for a moment, and something passes between them that feels bigger than the entire universe.  The look on Remus’s face goes all soft, as if Sirius is some tender precious thing that needs to be protected.

“You’re kind of a trainwreck,” Remus says to him. “But you’re my trainwreck.” 

Sirius closes his eyes. “Honestly, yeah.” 

**Author's Note:**

> i had so much fun with this, it's like my firstborn or something  
> hope you liked it, too!!  
> feel free to hmu @ gothzabini on tumblr if you wanna talk, or wait with bated breath for my wolfstar blog to actually materialize (this will take anywhere between 3 days to 6 months).
> 
> have a nice day!!!! also if you're currently struggling with unrequited love i send you forehead kisses thru cyberspace xxx


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